


Dusk

by RiriReaper



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Amnesia, Gore, Just an idea I came up with, Learning to be Human, M/M, Mainly centers around Gabe, Past Character Death, Slow Burn, Will add more tags as more chapters come out, murder of innocent people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-06 03:36:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8733238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiriReaper/pseuds/RiriReaper
Summary: He awoke in darkness, not remembering who he was or what happened to him. Though, when he learned to be what he was summoned beyond death to be, he realized there was once a man, before there was a Reaper.





	1. Alive

White noise. That's the best way he could describe it. He couldn't see anything, feel anything, taste or smell anything... But he heard a dull, whispering sound. It surrounded him and enveloped him. He couldn't discern a certain direction it was coming from. It was quiet enough to ignore for a while, but loud enough to slowly drive him insane.

  
He wasn't entirely sure, actually, how long he was here. He couldn't quite remember there being anything _before_ here. Or even if _here_ was even a place, really. It felt like a long time had passed before finally, something changed. A change in the air--was it air?--or the way he felt. But he felt himself become something. Not just an empty nothingness. The white noise seemed to speak to him, willing him forward. He reached out, as well as one could without a body or even a corporeal form, and found himself slowly gaining his senses. A feeling told him that he'd been in the darkness for a long time. And suddenly, he found himself in a world bathed in light by comparison. It was night, and he looked at the place. The rubble, the memorials, the symbols that he thought should be significant, though they were not. He still felt nothing, but he could see, could smell, could hear.

 

It was positively exhilerating.

 

He stayed there for a while, unsure of what to do or where to go, but after a while, he began to explore. His invisible body moved along the ground without sound. However, the longer he moved, the more he noticed lights in the distance. Tiny little dots of yellow, white, and blue. Feeling curious, he moved toward them, and after a long while, he found himself in an area he also was unfamiliar with. Which further perplexed him that he knew what certain things were. People moved about, cars drove along the streets. There was hustle and bustle this way and that, and he followed the throngs of traffic... Until something pulled at him.

 

It was a force unlike anything he'd experienced, and he couldn't help but move towards it. The closer he came, the more energy he felt. He moved down an alley, through an old building, up to the second floor... His form slipped under a door, and he found his prize. There was a body lying there in a room with chairs and a television. A man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, though he was skinnier than a skeleton. Foam fell from his lips as his eyes were rolled back. He wasn't sure how he heard it, but the whispers provided the word, 'overdose'. As he watched the man, it seemed like a ball of energy rose from his body. It glowed with a gentle warmth, fragile and beautiful, covered in several dark wisps of smoke. He moved forward to gaze deeper, but before he could get close enough, the thing seemed to dissolve, pulling itself into him. He was taken aback by this, but the whispers told him to let it happen.

 

As soon as the little ball of energy was gone, he felt power growing within himself. Small, like glowing embers at first, but once it had sunken into him, the high brought him newfound strength. With that strength, he tried for more. Tried to be. He began to see black smoke around himself, and realized, it _was_ himself. He had assumed a physical form. But this wasn't enough. While he could see himself, he wanted to feel. He craved more.

 

He felt the pull again, and this time, he moved quicker, hurrying to the location. another dead body. After absorbing this one, he began to feel something. He looked down to see hands. His hands. Flesh. There were small cracks in the dark skin where puffs of smoke billowed out and dissolved in the air around him. He saw a mirror, and moved over to it, finding his body was a mass of smoke and half-formed parts. Mouths where they shouldn't be, eyes staring in all sorts of places, tendrils of smoke swaying this way and that. He couldn't make out a face, but he felt like he had one.

 

Once again, the pull called him, and he let his corporeal form evaporate before his eyes before pulling himself off to the next... Would one call it a victim? This one gave him more flesh, reduced the smoke. But still, his face was a jumbled mess of mouths and eyes. Frustrated, he continued onward, finding more souls as he moved further and further away from where he awoke. He learned he could make more appear than just flesh. He cloaked himself in black leather, boots and a hood. He loved the way the back of the cloak fluttered behind him, now that he was able to feel. He would always manifest into this form again whenever he found a new soul for his feast.

 

It was late in the morning of the next day that he was finally seen.

 

He was feasting upon the soul of what seemed to be like an older gentleman. He still laid in bed, passed in his sleep. He stood there, absorbing the warmth, the soft and sweet emotions, the memories. This man lived a good life, and now he could live on within his predator. He felt giddy in his gluttony, though as he was in the process of consuming the last few wisps, an older woman walked in. She screamed, and called something in a language that he--for whatever reason--actually understood.

 

"Monster! Get away!" She ran for the phone, quickly dialing a number. She must have had someone pick up, because not long after, she's babbling on the phone, calling for help. For someone to save her. "Help, help, there's a grim reaper in my house! He killed my husband! Help me!" He turned towards her. A grim reaper, huh? He suddenly felt elated. He had a name. Reaper.

  
  
He stalked over to her, watching as she panicked. He held up his hand as the smoke provided him with a gun. It felt familiar, like he'd held this kind of a weapon a million times before. Grinning in a dark sort of way, he held the barrel to her head, listening to her cries of, "Don't kill me!" And with one squeeze, a loud blast sounded in the room, and she crumpled to the floor, blood splattering on the wall behind her along with bits of bone, brains, and sinew. There were cries from the phone from the emergency operator, and he grimaced, letting the gun evaporate before he looked down at the little ball of energy floating up from the body.

 

As he absorbed the soul, he felt incredibly full, his lust for blood and energy finally sated. The silence made the insistent calls from the phone and the sirens in the distance getting closer louder. Smiling in a grim fashion, he bent down, picked up the phone from her dead fingers, and lifted it up to his head in the same fashion she had. "Hello," he answered, surprised he actually had a voice. It was dark, menacing, evil. It fit him, even if there was something about it that sounded far too familiar for his liking.

 

The line went silent. But he could tell from the heavy breathing, the operator was still on the line. He chuckled darkly.

 

"Quiet now, huh? Well, then... You know there's nothing you can do for this woman. The Reaper... Has come for her soul." A part of him thought it sounded cheesey, but if he was going to have a name out there in the world, Reaper was as good of one as any. With that, he placed the phone back on the hook, cutting the call. He heard the sirens just outside this house. Turning, he looked into the blood-spattered mirror to see what the woman saw.

 

But where there had been a smokey, death-like visage just moments before, a face had grown in its place. The face filled him with a displaced nostalgia, even as the irises were bright red and there were openings in the flesh here and there that leaked smoke out of them. Well, that wasn't good. He didn't want a name to be put to his face. So, as he heard feet running through the house, he had the smoke form a mask over his face. It resembled a skull, in a way, but it was bizarre looking. He looked at it as the officers finally entered the room.

 

"Freeze! Hands up!" There were three officers, all pointing at him with guns. He turned towards them. "Not another inch, psycho! Get your fucking hands up!"

 

There was a moment of contemplation, but before they could shoot, he simply evaporated, reveling in the confused murmurs. His laughter filled the room as his black smoke covered it like a fog. Slowly, he seeped out the window, leaving the officers to clean up his mess. He simply disappeared.

 

-

 

That night, Reaper was resting in his corporeal form on a sofa in an abandoned gang hideout. Well, recently abandoned. He more or less killed them all and claimed it for his own. There was a small television wedged into the corner of this room, and he simply watched as the report of his crime leaked all over the media. Sketches of his mask with the hood appeared on screen as the reporter went on to talk about the incident. The camera switched to one of the officers that had been there that morning.

 

"This monster is unlike anything we've ever seen. He disappeared right in front of us, meaning he could be anywhere right now. We advise people to lock their doors and windows until we figure out what he wants, or how to catch him."

 

After that, the recording of the emergency hotline call played out, and Reaper couldn't help but grin, admiring the sound of fear in both of their voices. But when the recording was through, the report was finished up, and Reaper simply lounged back, flipping the television off. He wasn't sure where he'd come from, but this kind of progress was astounding.

 

And honestly, he couldn't remember a time he felt more alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, quick run-down of things.
> 
> 1\. Reaper doesn't remember being human, and isn't aware he even was human to begin with.  
> 2\. Reaper finds enjoyment out of killing because it gets him more souls, faster.  
> 3\. Other characters will be introduced soon.  
> 4\. The chapters will be short and will come as I have muse for this, sorry.


	2. Answers

Gold and blue. Blurs of those two colors mixed in unrecognizable blots in his memory. A voice that echoed and seemed to far away that he couldn't form words. But there was a distinct familiarity in it. Something important. Someone important.

-

He awoke, unsure how he'd even fallen asleep. It had been two weeks, as he had been recording from the bad cable television set wedged in the back room of the abandoned warehouse he called his own. The bodies of the gang he's slaughtered to take it as his own were disposed of. Gabe allowed his darkness to consume them, use them for energy. It seemed that not only the soul gave him life. He maintained form with bodies as well, but if he was ever injured, only a soul would heal him. He'd had time to test this theory over the past two weeks. He'd found out a lot of things about his body, actually. Like for instance, he could teleport to another area in eyesight with a blink of an eye. He only had to close his eyes and imagine himself there, and he'd be standing in the very spot moments later. He also found that moving in what he called his "wraith form" allowed him faster movement than walking, though it seemed to drain too much energy to use it too often. He felt tired afterwards. He had to work on that. However, he also found that sleeping and eating food restored some energy, so he made it a habit to do both on a regular basis.

Sitting up in the old worn and dusty sofa he'd been resting in, he sighed. He dissolved his mask and gloves to tiredly rub at the bridge of his nose. He wasn't sure where he got the habit from, but he seemed to do it often when he'd been sleeping. It was about then that he heard the news from the television set.

"Terror attacks ranging from killings to burglaries, as well as criminal mischief. Government officials have been telling the people that these are unconnected incidents, but rumors and evidence suggest otherwise."

Reaper raised his head and looked over at the old screen. There was a news reporter there, the headline reading, Breaking News: Austrian Bank Robbed, Suggested Talon Activity. He watched in mild curiosity. He had heard some stories about this Talon on other news reports and specials. Apparently they're an underground criminal organization that's been around since the days of Overwatch, the "crowning jewel of the UN's cooperation". Talon has never been pinpointed, and they're good at covering their tracks. They never leave anything but unanswered questions behind.

Reaper was interested in them.

He watched on, but nothing real interesting or informational came out of it, and eventually the topic was changed to something going on in the United States. Frowning, Reaper rose to his feet. He was tired, but he'd gotten plenty of sleep. His stomach hurt, as well. Hungry, then?

He dissolved his usual mask and cloak getup, forming the mist into a black hoodie and jeans. His so-called, "street-wear". Whenever he wanted to go into populated areas and not want to kill anyone, he would wear a getup like this one. It was just annoying now, how easily he was recognized as "The Reaper". He was fine with that, but not when he wanted chinese takeout. Switching off the television set, he moved for the door, grabbing some cash out of one of the discarded wallets he'd left in a pile. It was about a thirty minute walk to the cheap chinese restaurant he seemed to be rather fond of. He picked up some sweet and sour pork and lo mein, paid the man at the register, and made to leave. He wanted to avoid people at all costs. And it took a lot to maintain his human skin without smoke billowing out or eyeballs trying to form on the hollows of his cheeks.

He was walking home when he passed by an alleyway with a... strangely familiar poster on the wall. He moved to investigate, realizing it was one of the old advertisements for Overwatch. Heroic figures standing tall, saluting... He felt like he remembered something about this, and a strange sense of nostalgia filled him, but... He couldn't place it. He didn't like this feeling. He wanted to bury it. But the more souls he consumed, the more he began to understand small sparks of emotion. Little pieces, small discolored blotches of light in the darkness.

Shaking his head, Reaper moved again, getting back to his warehouse with the food. He didn't want to think about it. Plopping down on the sofa, he opened the boxes and ate in silence, not even having bothered with switching the television back on. About halfway through his meal, he heard tapping on the metal sheeting on the roof. Rain, the whispers provided. It started out slow but got harder quickly, a constant salvo of water pelting the roof. The holes in the structure allowed small trickles to get through. It didn't bother him, but he supposed he could but buckets around and collect rainwater.

He began to think of ways he could fix up the place, but then realized his food was gone. He'd eaten it all. Placing the boxes on an empty crate nearby, he slowly sighed. He wasn't sure how to describe it, but he didn't like this... Stasis. He felt like something needed to happen. He needed to make something happen. He tired of sitting around and just waiting. He was... Bored...

Perhaps, he thought, it was time to leave this place behind. Find something new. Maybe... Go somewhere he recognized? He thought about it for a moment, and tried to think of anything, but all he got was blackness. Sighing, he got up. He left again, this time shifting his hoodie into a water-resistant raincoat. He went to the library in town and used one of their computers, having forged a library card from his smoke. He was bent on doing some research about the world.

He spent several hours in that library, searching various things. Where he was, what places seemed okay to leave to. How to get here. He looked up more on Talon, but most of the websites were blocked by the library's browser control. He did, however find out a lot about Overwatch. It was the best and brightest throughout the world, banded together to end the omnic crisis. After that, they were thrown from political issue to political issue, slowly spiraling into chaos after their initial purpose had been fulfilled. Still, they remained several years. They were disbanded, however when rumors turned into conspiracies, and Overwatch was suggested to be corrupt. As much as they tried to fight the image, the organization was shut down when an accident occured, and one of their facilities collapsed, taking its two top men with it. Strike-Commander John Morrison, and Commander Gabriel Reyes, the second in command. The bodies were never recovered, but they were given a service and multiple memorials in honor of the good they did for the world.

Pah, a lot of good they did in expressing their gratitude, he couldn't help but think.

Further digging brought some more answers. There were no photos of Gabriel Reyes, mostly because the scandal was revealed that he was heading a secret organization within Overwatch. Blackwatch, it was called. However, he found countless images of other agents. They all looked familiar. Perhaps he lived while Overwatch was around, he thought. The one who looked especially familiar was Jack Morrison, but that was understandable, considering he was the leader of the organization. Chewing his lip, He burned the images into his mind. He wanted to know more. However, when he went to dig up something on Talon, he kept on running into stories and dead ends. Finally, though, he found something. An old forum post, it seemed like he was close to finding an answer. He began to read, willing to accept it if it turned out to be just some bullshit conspiracy theorist, but after he got two paragraphs in, the screen glitched.

Suddenly the whole damned thing was filling with code and errors. What the hell was going on? Before he realized, the screen went black, before lighting up in bright puce. A strange looking skull design was in the center, and even as he tried to force shut down the machine, the damned thing wouldn't turn off. Frantic, he unplugged it. The screen went black. Dead.

What the hell?

Deciding it was no longer wise to stay here, Reaper rose to his feet and turned in the computer pass before leaving. He had a lot of information, but he couldn't help but feel like he'd fallen right into a trap. He needed to leave. Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for any inconsistencies in the Overwatch main story. I'm trying to follow as well as I can.


End file.
